


Moon-washed

by miraculan



Series: It's Always Sunny(?) in Elysium [3]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Adventure, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Original Character(s), Playing fast and loose with mythology, Rating May Change, eros (ancient greek religion and lore, most characters mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-21 20:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraculan/pseuds/miraculan
Summary: Spies have placed a foreign god's eyes in the Underworld, and the Warden-Prince must organize the efforts to blind them before it's too late- The task is made all the more daunting when the mind is one place but the heart is elsewhere.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Megaera/Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: It's Always Sunny(?) in Elysium [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121870
Comments: 43
Kudos: 94





	1. The Warden, Restless

**Author's Note:**

> Zagreus get's a chance to come into his own and find his place! Lot's of details from this are taken from the first two works in the series, so it may be odd as a stand alone.

The house of Hades is always ‘busy.’

Busy, as to say there is always  _ busy work _ \- a constant shuffle of shades in and out, the shuffling of papers, the chatter and drone then whisper, over and over in that order. Zagreus himself was the only one to ever interrupt the pattern with his misadventuring and his need to mother the members of the house.

Now that the house was  _ busy _ , though, he wasn’t much in the mood.

True business in Tartarus brought silence; Tense stillness as the flow of the dead in and out slowed, as a well-populated palace decided all at once to lose itself in thought- a scheduled group activity to bite at one’s nails and pinch at one’s brow for the predesignated allotment of time. Even with the recently added housemates, there was no increase in friendly conversation in the main hall.

Said housemates were particularly unreadable, even for the Underworld- though in very different ways.

Lord Erebus was as still and unwavering as Mother Nyx, but had a much less regal disposition. He reminded Zagreus ever so slightly of both Orpheus and Patroclus, but eerie. Far away and hard to look at, as though his stillness was a precursor to startling motion yet to happen. He was polite, but did not hold back from speaking his mind, which aided in the current security matter.

Said security matter being the second new housemate: Eros. Affable and witty, charms that even the gloomiest Underworld souls brightened at considerably. It was clear to Zagreus, however, that a part of his casualness was an act- that he was observing and learning and putting puzzle pieces together under the guise of one too frivolous to care. 

Zagreus sat in the administrative room across from them and next to Patroclus, who given the official clearance to participate would not be dissuaded from his course. He was too stubborn to leave work unfinished, despite the constant assurance that his rest was well earned.

“Enough of that.” He dismissed Zagreus with a scrunch of his nose and a wave of his hand. “I’ve sat idle long enough. You said you couldn’t find Hector?”

“The Exalted glamour is an interesting sort.” Erebus said with a tilt of his head, sending his weightless hair in a different direction. “Nyx and I cannot see through them. I must commend whoever designed them so, to value privacy with such gusto.”

“Could he not suspect that the house is after his imprisonment, not his aid?” Eros supplied, looking to Patroclus with a pinched brow.

“It’s not as though I have had the opportunity to clarify.” He shrugged with a sigh.

Zagreus does not say so,  _ wouldn’t  _ ever say so, but he suspects that Hypnos is trying to protect Hector from the house. When he first heard that the shade lingered in and around the cave on the Lethe, he did go to their Sleeping God to ask after him and was met with dismissive confusion. It’s a ruse, one that convinces everyone but the prince to this day: Hypnos plays the fool, may act one from time to time, but he is clever and tricky. Though they are both illusive, it’s easier to chase Death than it is to chase Sleep. Once it’s been startled away, one can never catch it.

As if summoned by thought, the dim candlelight of the administrative room flashes a quick green, so fast he can’t tell if anyone else saw it but he can  _ feel  _ it- can tell just by sense alone that Thanatos arrived to perch on his balcony over the Styx.

_ “What am I to you?”  _

That had been the last meaningful conversation they’d had, and it was weeks ago. Months? Zagreus thought about it nearly every waking moment, cursing himself with every colorful word he knew for his baffling reply:  _ “How am I supposed to answer that?” _

How could he not answer that? What was so complicated that it couldn’t be voiced?  _ ‘The affection I have for you has always been so potent that I can no longer differentiate between platonic and romantic love?’ _

Until recently, anyway, when Patroclus read him so thoroughly it felt like a knife twisting between his ribs. What was it he said?  _ “An uncrossable space, the size and shape of your own heart at their feet?” _ When he thought about it for too long he cried.

He bites his own cheek, willing his heart rate down and scolding himself for jolting upward like an over-eager hound. Have the others been talking? If they have then they noticed he wasn’t. They probably saw him jump, for certain at least one of them did-

_ Oh gods, don’t look at Eros don’t look, he will definitely be looking back- _

Eros was looking right at him, fidgeting with a piece of his endless snowy hair. His expression remained statuesque save for the perfect arch of one brow and the glitter of ruby eyes.

“Well, no use talking ourselves in circles.” He sighed, never taking his gaze off of the prince even though he spoke to the collective. “Our quandary is in Elysium, and Elysium only has so many places to hide. He’ll turn up as soon as we take our eyes away, I’m certain.”

“Aye, as soon as we are not ready for him.” Patroclus stood, pushing in his chair and stretching. He was wearing his hair in a great many braids of late, decorated sparsely with little baubles in Elysium’s favored colors. It looked handsome, and longer than it appeared when loose. “I will return home for the time being. If I hear word of Hector, then you will hear word from me. If that is all?”

It took an embarrassing amount of distracted seconds to realize Patroclus was waiting on  _ him  _ to formally dismiss, even Erebus ginning at him like he could read his damned mind. He might be, for all the prince knew of him.

“Yes! Sorry.”  _ You sound like a little boy playing at being a general.  _ “Eros is right, we won’t do any good around a table. Go on, the lot of you. Enjoy the evening. Or morning.” He said with a wave of his hand that he knew looked like his father but couldn’t stop it if he tried.

The embodiment of Primordial Darkness  _ chuckled  _ at him before vanishing into cloying void, Patroclus shifting to Elysium with a parting clasp on his shoulder. He was relieved to see Eros stand to leave, but physically jumped at the unexpected hand on his other shoulder and the voice far closer to his ear than normal.

“He’s waiting for you.” The other godling muttered, making him shiver. “But he won’t stand there forever. I can feel him starting to fidget.”

He strolled off, letting his hand drag but ending the caress with a shocking  _ smack _ dead center on his forehead, to which the prince sputtered disdainfully.

“Use your words. And your brain, if you haven’t knocked it out yet.” Were the god of love’s parting words. Zagreus waited a full minute (he counted) before half dashing and half phasing out of the door, leaving a whirlwind of papers flying as he entered the hallway.

Gloomy Thanatos, darling Thanatos, was not leaning over his balcony as per usual. He was pushing off his hood, strolling around the newly furnished hallway. His hand dragged over the fabric of the chaise before picking up little trinkets to observe more closely, his harvest-moon eyes sliding to Zagreus with suspicion.

“What is all this?” He droned, gesturing with a nod to the previously empty section of hallway.

“You’re never home long enough to use your room anymore.” Zagreus shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “And some of the shades linger over here. Might as well be a little-...well, a little cozier.”

“You know I don’t need to be  _ cozy. _ ” Thanatos insisted, sitting the little jar he’d been holding back on the table. 

Mortals leave offerings for him, not to appease but to revere- things they have somehow figured out he favors when his own house can hardly think of a gift to get him. White petal flowers like lilies and jasmine and daisies, and heady frankincense. The smell of it all clings to him. That’s what he had picked up off the table; a gold tin of incense.

“Sometimes it is alright to enjoy things just for enjoyment's sake.” He smiled, strolling to plop down on the chaise himself if his friend would not. He was willing with near strain for Thanatos to sit  _ with  _ him on the chaise, but to no avail. He was probably going to say-

“I can’t stay long.” Of course. “I just wanted to come by and ask if there was anything you needed me to pass along to Lord Ares, or if our guest should remain a secret.”

The real question would be if Lord Ares knew the value of the information and knew not to spread it. If he did not suspect his son to be in danger, would he see harm in bringing it up in conversation? Apollo had worked closely with Ares in the past, though Zagreus was unaware if the bright god’s disdain for Eros had put a strain on the relationship. Artemis knew something, for certain. She’s been more suspicious than usual, and even more brief.

“If he asks, do not lie.” Zagreus decided with a sigh, slouching even further into the royal violet drapery. “But I wouldn’t go out of your way to bring it up.”

“As you say.” Thanatos nodded, in a rare instance of absolute trust in whatever the other was planning. Refreshing but odd. He was thrumming with a haunting energy, one that announced his arrival and imminent departure.

“Before you go,” Zagreus rushed, “Has Hypnos told you anything recently?”

Than scrunched his nose, tilting his head in question.  _ I love you. _

“I have seen Hypnos even less than you have lately, I’d imagine. Why?” he asked in obvious suspicion.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Zagreus said with a wave of his hand, lounging backward as though nothing in the world could possibly be wrong or troubling or puzzling or obnoxious. Even with his eyes closed in a false display of relaxation, he could feel those gold eyes on him like two hot needles. They only got sharper as the quiet dragged on, forcing the prince to peel open his right eye.

“Well then.” Death muttered. “Don’t work too hard, Zag.” With that he unfurled those ghostly green wings and fluttered off, leaving nothing but a breeze that tousled the curtains in his wake.

Zagreus groaned, dragging his hands down his face miserably. That was terrible. Awful, absolutely dreadful. Than comes home once in a blue moon and he couldn’t think of one productive thing to say. Shameful, embarrassing-

“Abysmal.” 

Zagreus nearly jumps out of his skin, knocking three cushions off the chaise and sitting up just in time to catch the incense burner before it collided with the marble.

Eros was leaning on the balcony where Thanatos normally stands, though his back was to the Styx. Achilles has his white robes- tattered and torn and stained as they were- with the intention of mending them, leaving Eros dressed in the House of Hades blood red garb. He quirked up his brow again when he noticed the prince’s eyes dragging on him.

Zagreus sighs, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

“Does the house of Hades have training grounds?” He asked.

“Yes, the courtyard has amenities. Though the only target gets mouthy sometimes.” the prince replies, looking backwards over the seat.

“Most do.” Eros nodded solemnly, though he laughed. He gestured Zagreus rise with a tilt of his head. “Come shoot with me.”

  
  



	2. Mother Hens, Old Cocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smuggling ring can be an information hub if you are charming.

Asphodel was a continent.

Zagreus always tread the same path through, low among the scorching delta out of necessity. Following along the bloated river was the only marker of direction, so the discomfort would have to be taken in stride. He didn’t fancy getting lost here forever.

No mortal shades still lingered in the lowlands, not since the Phlegethon burst from her seams yet again. Only the bloodless and hydra-spawn made home of the charred wastes. A few witches maybe. And Eurydice.

Zagreus had long thought that the hanging nests and carved hives high on the walls belonged to some hellish insect that he had yet to provoke to violence, but he had been recently informed otherwise. By Skelly, of all people. 

They are passages for shades in and out of the many caverns of Asphodel, crafted at heights the river could never hope to even splash. The higher up, the more chance of a grassy breeze from Elysium to come wafting through. Some of these passageways supposedly led to “the highlands,” plains- mountains even- left scarred but not demolished by fire.

Patroclus said the tiers in Elysium have no bearing on the deed or status of the shades that reside there, but Eurydice insisted that in Asphodel respected souls were welcomed and made space for in the highest areas. She lingered on the river itself, having refused several offers of housing amongst the others for reasons yet unknown to the prince. Zagreus had only ever seen the river, not the plains, and not the streets.

Until now, that is.

The house had long since been aware of some sort of smuggling of goods between Elysium and Asphodel, forbidden by written law but ultimately harmless enough to be overlooked. However with Olympian interference nipping at their heels, Zagreus was given the task to go to the highlands and make sure the infrastructure was secure; that no shades could easily pass between the two realms.

Useless, as it was likely Charon ferrying goods himself for a cut of the coin, and he did however he pleased. He did not say this because he wanted to see this part of Asphodel for himself.( He could have been ferried with the boatman, but Eros had given him an aspect for Coronacht, which was proving as deadly as it was fun.)

Zagreus knew in theory that Asphodel was the largest and the most populated by dozens of times over but to  _ see it! _

This chamber is  _ bustling  _ with shades, walking over packed earth and rustic cobblestone, as solid and fully formed as any ghost in Elysium. They call to each other over the heads of the crowd, they laugh heartily, make rude gestures at each other from across the street. Children run and laugh, haunting only in the nature of their presence but cheerful in disposition. Old women play games at tables, old men smoke something fragrant from pipes, salesmen and craftsmen barter with spirit at stalls and carts-

Almost none of the shades here are faceless.

Zagreus doesn’t know what it means but he’s so  _ enchanted _ , he thinks this must be what a surface city is like and it makes him ache even more than before to see one.

Whatever burns violet flames in doorways here instead of lanterns is so powerfully perfumed that the smell of sulfur and brimstone is completely undetectable, though the orange glow of lava lights even this high up. Many shades wear cloth tied around the bottom half of their faces, though the prince was unsure if this was to filter the air or to disguise the face in the masses.

He wanders through the crowd, weaving and squeezing between people who give him second glances and pinched brows at his appearance before shrugging and continuing on with their business. He dashes up several unbalanced staircases, meanders carefully over a set of stone steps that is imbedded into the stone wall of the chamber, overlooking a free fall into the Phlegethon before entering yet another of the horrid wasp-nest traveling passages.

The air in these is hot and whistles strangely due to their shape, and Zagreus passes through even more quickly if only to escape the sound of his own breath ricocheting off the stone and coming back warped and unwell.

He comes upon a plain grassy enough that butterflies have returned to it, though they aren’t the blue that linger and flirt upon shades in Elysium. They’re as gold and red as any flame, some tiny and white. The grass is crunchy but steadfast, a few gnarled and scarred looking trees growing along the outsides of the chamber- stubbornly budding despite the lack of sun and water.

He looks upon the fortress carved into the wall and ceiling, the highest occupied cavern in Asphodel. It is here, he is told, that the leak between the two realms likely resides. Once again he sighs, because he knows it’s Charon just as much as he knows Hypnos is hiding something among the blessed. The trade could be single-handedly the mischief of Charon  _ and _ Hypnos for all the house keeps track of them these days.

He passes a few shades on his way through the entrance, these ones lingering in their gaze more than those from the street, though they ask him nothing. There are a great many women here, disproportionately so. Those that were busy before spread word in a chain when they saw him, a web of an alarm system when a stranger stepped through the door. They go back to their business like he wasn’t watching them do it.

He is ushered, or more like  _ herded _ by a stern-looking Amazon walking casually but unmistakably behind him, forcing him to quicken his step to not get in her way. This leads him likely right where she wanted him to be, through a heavy and smoke-scented curtain that he is unceremoniously pushed through.

This room is hub of some sort, full to the brim of tables and shelves full of valuables from both Elysium and Asphodel, Zagreus swears he sees gems from  _ Tartarus _ in here, organized in their own section. There’s precious stones and dried herbs, incense and coin, fruit and nectar and ambrosia on every visible surface. Shades take stock of everything on clipboards, chuckling among themselves as papers fly from ledger to ledger on some kind of enchantment.

“You are crowned in flame, stranger.” 

The raspy voice drew his eye to the corner, to a well-made and well cushioned desk and chair. Sat at a ledger so huge it could more accurately be called a  _ tome,  _ a handsome black quill in one hand, was an old man.

Distinctly familiar but foreign, he was as old as Odysseus, perhaps more so. His hair was silvered, worn long down his back and sparsely decorated- save for a few braids near his ear that had clearly been cut short. His beard was well-kept, a little darker than his wizened locks. His eyes were firm but the quirk of one strong brow was playful.

The old man said nothing more in reference to him being with the House of Hades, making it obvious he said it so Zagreus would know that he knew and that everyone else did too.

“What seek you, hm?” The old man prompted. “Herb? Stone? Few goods the lady has here would do much good to the... _ pre-deceased _ . Though I can send you along if there’s something specific. We take coin in here, but the lady does not.”

“Lady?” The prince asked, his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know of a lady, good shade.”

“Then you still do not.” The old man said, resolute and firm enough to startle. His eyes were still light, and he still smirked. A piece of parchment flew past his gaze to fold itself among the book in front of him, but it did not faze him.

“Have you seen anything new come through?” Zagreus decided to ask, unsure if he should be more specific when he himself has no idea what to keep an eye out for.

It must have been as stupid of a question as it felt, because the old man actively laughed at him.

“ _ The Crossroads  _ is a shifting and lively place. I see new things almost every day. Tell me what it is you seek, I will tell you if it is for trade.” He asked again. He was refreshingly stern and affable all at once, and Zagreus immediately liked him.

“I do not know exactly what it is I seek, sir. Only that if it were of note to the House it would have come from up not down.” He shrugged. The old man stood and stretched, dressed in what likely used to be green- blue? White?- long since smoke stained, the trim decorative and all but frayed away.

“You are new here.” He sighed. “Walk with me.” When he passed the hall of women by the old man’s side, the web of information was less urgent- the one announcing departure. 

Outside (?) in the grassy courtyard, the old man looked over his shoulder before turning to speak more with the prince.

“Dress down, if you return.” He said, eyeing his laurels and clothes. “Centuries I’ve gone with little interference from the House of Hades, and these days it seems one cannot set a foot out the door without crossing the path of one of you. Tell me, truly, what it is you seek, lad.” A butterfly landed in his hair, yellow, before fluttering away.

“Security breach in Elysium, from the surface.” Was all he saw fit to share. Even that was too much. He could have just said they were cracking down on the not-so-subtle smuggling, why didn’t he say that? The old man had hard eyes to lie into. “Goods pass through here, we wanted to make sure nothing else had.”  _ Stop talking!! _

The blank look of surprise on his wizened face made him look younger for half a second before he pinched his brow back together, refolding his wrinkles. He looks pensively at the crunchy grass, and Zagreus’ anxiety grows with the length of the silence. 

“Is there a way to contact you, when the landlady returns?” The old man asks. “There was something new that she stashed away, behind lock after lock, keys only she has.” 

“Charon would be the best way, if you are often in his path.” Zagreus said truthfully. “Or I suppose Eurydice, or Orpheus.”

“Aye, we work often with the ferryman.” The shade nodded, relieved at least that there was an easy way to send for him. “The Lady does as she pleases, so I have no way of estimating her next arrival. But I will send word with Charon with haste, next I hear of her.”

“And should I need to contact you, sir?” Zagreus asked. “You are well connected.”

“If nothing else.” He nodded, sending the chopped-off little braids in his otherwise loose hair wobbling. “Ask the shades for Rooster, they’ll know you speak of me.”

“As you say, sir.” The prince nodded with a quick bow. “I’m afraid responsibility calls me up and out for the time being, but I shall return.” He sighed, turning towards the tunnel.

“As you wish. And dress down, as I said.” He called with a dismissive wave after him. As much as Zagreus was elated at discovering the more enchanting parts of Asphodel, he quickened his pace. Too much newness and serious talk had made him anxious and queasy, and he suddenly yearned for quiet and violent Elysium.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am simply going to use Asphodel as another world building canvas.


	3. Leave Her, Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyeur but not in a way that has benefits. Peeping Tom peeps only anxiety.

Here was the thing about Elysium, since Achilles had been around: It was only a matter of time before Zagreus  _ interrupted  _ something.

Not that he could blame them! If given such a serene little place of his own, it would be all too easy to tempt the prince himself to amorous action. And not that he expected them to be fully nude on the shores of the river, not when they’ve been building such a lovely little home together-

Regardless, he is interrupting something. But not what he had always assumed he would interrupt. Not even close. Though he would later decide it would have been less of a hardship if it was.

Patroclus is not in the glade. Zagreus is watching someone watch Achilles.

He has visited the glade more often than usual, if only because the guardsman is no longer a guardsman- he doesn’t get to stop and talk to him everytime he passes through the hall and he misses him- somewhere between missing one’s rowdy best friend and missing one’s affectionate father. 

It made sense when he thought about it, that Patroclus would be driven to action while Achilles would be drawn to rest. One had spent centuries sitting and waiting in silence, and the other had never had a chance to catch their breath post-mortem.

He digresses.

Achilles is putting clothes on a line to dry, wringing them out in the grass and making sure they hang as flat and free as possible to avoid wrinkling. He wears white,- apparently not his first choice if he’s been driven to laundry because of it,- and his head is unadorned. 

Zagreus often feels guilty, for not having noticed the man’s melancholy sooner. It’s so obvious now that he’s healing that he’d been perpetually wounded and weary. The prince had always thought his mentor a wizened man, who had likely taught all manner of pupils before Zagreus himself. His voice was quiet and calm, his posture as pristine as his armor, the lines under his eyes speaking of experience.

But he was  _ wrong. _

Achilles spoke quietly because years of mourning and raging had left his voice hoarse. His armor was wound around him tightly as though it was the only thing keeping him upright, it’s lacings holding him in one piece. The lines under his eyes were from exhaustion, from weariness more familiar than rest.

It was only in the recent absence of these that they became obvious, only glaring in retrospect. Zagreus knows little of the rate mortal men age, but Achilles looks only a little older than the prince himself- nowhere near how his parents appear, not even close to how Nyx does. This is a man who was given a choice between peaceful longevity and young glorious death, and chose the latter.

He sings as he works, warm and bold. His voice is grittier than Orpheus’, but the prince thinks it is just as impressive and just as enjoyable- had recently told his former mentor exactly that.

_ “You act so surprised.” Achilles had chuckled. “I sang to you when you were small nearly every day, and you behave like it is new to you.” _

_ “Really?” Zagreus said incredulously, hoping his surprise hid the emotion that had a choke hold of his throat. “I must have been too little to remember.” _

He is singing something easy and jaunty, if not a little melancholy if you listen closely. Maybe a working song, maybe a song that sailors would sing. But he’s not alone in the glade.

There’s a shade off by the other door, fidgeting with his hands, head tilted in either surprise or indecision. Likely he’s been there far longer than Zagreus, and so cannot find an appropriate place to interrupt nor a stealthy way to leave- an issue he is growing increasingly empathetic towards. The prince makes no plans to leave though, not until he knows Achilles is not in harm's way. Not that he can’t fight unarmed, only that he should not have to when he’s minding his own business.

His mentor heaves a great sigh at the closing note of a song, and would have likely moved on to another had the shade not seized the opportunity to announce his presence- using the slow rhythm of crisp grass underfoot instead of a knock at a door. He is careful, like one would approach a wild animal.

“I dare say you are nearly unrecognizable.” The shade speaks softly, keeping a good twenty paces away. He is handsome, Zagreus decided. Toned but slender, messy mop of wavy black hair, warm bronze skin that makes the cool color of his eyes piercing. He can’t tell at the distance if they are blue, only that they are light. The stubble at his jaw only flatters the angle of it, the scar on his lip only draws the eye to it.

Achilles jolts and freezes, before letting the tension melt from him on a huge and weary sigh.

“So many have said the same that it must be true.” He shrugged in reply. He looks to the spool of fabric still in his hands, and turns in a halted way to hang it on the line before lazily sitting on a moss covered stone. Lazy if you did not know to watch the atmosphere. The stranger is armed, Achilles is not- yet Achilles is making himself small.

“How is your little cherub?” The shade asks, colloquial.

“Healed.” Achilles nodded, his gaze unwavering. “He seeks the truth of his blood and grows stronger for it, it seems. Though, I admit I have not gone to visit yet.”

“So you were telling the truth?” The shade prompts, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “You no longer work for the house?”

“As I said.” He confirmed, patient- but in the way one would be after they’ve repeated themselves to a child several times over. “If you do not trust my word, at least trust Patroclus. It is a job offer, not a warrant.”

_ They’ve discussed this before? _

“If nothing else, you have proven a man of your word, Achilles- that I do not doubt.” The stranger bites the inside of their cheek as the other shade offers a tight, close-lipped smile. “But I would believe you know more of the Lord Hades than your darling does. I do not doubt the offer, only my value.”

“Simply be more advantageous as a player than as a prisoner.” Achilles shrugged, as though it were a simple choice.

“That I am working on.” The shade agreed, his tone more affable and pensive than before. “It is absurd, but if perfected could hardly be turned away. Though my fickle patron will start to get suspicious soon, if he is not already.”

“Let him fucking squirm for all I care.” Achilles said, his own tone strangely casual and friendly despite the contents of his sentence, his brows high as he nodded. “He may see you here but he can’t touch you.”

“I hope you are right.” The shade sighed, dropping his arms to his sides briefly before running one through his hair in thought. He bites at the side of his lip with the scar, traces it with his tongue. “I told Patroclus that he owed me nothing. Hopefully it is not for my sake he forgoes rest.”

“Is it so strange that we would want Apollo blinded to us?” Achilles offered, tearing up grass in his hands before looking to meet the other shade’s eyes. “And perhaps it is not Patroclus who owes you something? No, that’s not right-..” he shakes his head, sitting more upright while he hunts for words. A very long silence is allowed between them, the only sound the meandering Lethe and the wind chimes on the front porch.

“Your death has shamed me in mine. I refused my laurels, any prize granted in the name of war...it is not retribution I seek, for it cannot be granted. It is not forgiveness, for I have not granted you the same.” He confessed, shaking his head with a miserable laugh. “The debt I owe is not to you, but to  _ Andromache _ .”

_ The shade is Hector, that shade is Hector, gods what the hell are they going to do, does Patroclus know about this- _

Hector is stunned for a moment, but comes back to himself with a huff.

“I will be ready for the house soon. I just need a little more time, to be sure I have an advantage- to test the one I believe I’ve gained.” He confessed.

“Worry not.” Achilles replied, waving him off with one hand. “We would not let you see Tartarus. Besides, even the House of Hades is not all-seeing. They don’t have agents prowling around every pillar.”

As Hector nodded and made for the opposite chamber door with a salute, Zagreus tried to make peace with the new information he had been granted.

First, it was not Hypnos hiding Hector, it was Achilles.

Second, Zagreus is prowling around a pillar. Achilles had known he was there the whole time. When the great stone gate shuts behind the Trojan, a full five second count goes by before they both let out a simultaneous puff of air.

“Come on out, lad.” He called, pushing to stand up and continue his laundry.

Zagreus approached with no small amount of guilt, like a scolded child. He knew he was twiddling his thumbs like one too, but couldn’t manage to cease and desist.

“Does Patroclus know, too?” He asked, hesitant and small, feeling awful that he even needed to question it and with good reason.

Achilles looked over his shoulder in shock, brow pinched as if insulted.

“Of course he does!” He shook his head, a rare display of frustration in the prince’s direction. “You think I would lie to his face?”

“No!” He tried to correct, hands up like he could wipe the question out of the air, shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I only meant-,”

Achilles turned to face him fully, waiting for a reply instead of rushing to comfort him. Indeed a shifting change of dynamic- this is not his superior and not his parent, this is his  _ friend _ \- so the work to keep it that way is two sided. He closed his eyes as if that would make words come quicker.

“I did not phrase that correctly.” He confessed, gathering and calming himself. “What I meant was: How involved is Patroclus, and what are his opinions on the matter? I know you would not keep secrets, I am sorry.”

Achilles deflated, rubbing his temples before sweeping his hair back, holding all of it away with his hands at his neck. Zagreus only saw him do it recently, a nervous habit. It was distinctly human, save for that the motion revealed his pointed ears. They were pinned backward with stress.

_ (Zagreus knew Achilles was only half mortal, he always knew that- but it was embarrassingly recent when he learned that his mentor’s mother was no god but a sea nymph. To be fair, the prince had seen very few mortals that weren’t hooded shades. For all he knew, some humans just had twitchy ears and pointy teeth and eyes that reflect in the dark. The next time he saw Eurydice, he observed her very closely to see the difference.) _

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.” Achilles relinquished, his arms falling to his sides. “It is Patroclus who said Hector can’t go before the house with nothing to offer, else it would be a confession to a crime instead of a job interview. So he is involved. It is his idea.”

Zagreus opens his mouth for rebuttal, but is cut off.

“Nor did we mean to work behind  _ your _ back. In truth, we had assumed Hector would not need so much time. The longer we waited, the harder it got to come to you with it. Patroclus said he very nearly told you at the house, but the two of you were not alone and you seemed distracted.”

Achilles did not make any hints that he knew what the distraction was but Zagreus knew that  _ Pat  _ knew, and so he groaned, slumping over.

“Blood and darkness.” He said, his head tilted up at Olympus. “This is a mess.  _ I  _ am a mess.”

He found himself very suddenly in an embrace, one that squeezed the air out of his ribcage and smooshed his face awkwardly into a tan shoulder.

“I am sorry.” Achilles mumbled into his hair.

“You are crushing me.” He managed to puff out, making the other man tighten further like an adder with a field mouse. “Achilles!”

“I am not done being sorry.” He replied calmly, not loosening his grip but swaying in a way that would be soothing if the prince were not being squeezed like a grape.

“It’s fine!” He choked, patting his back. “I forgive you. Sorry too  _ andIloveyouverymuchbutI’mrunningoutofair-,” _

He was released, his lungs finally expanding fully in the aftermath of affection and gentle bullying, which was worth it for the laugh he got from Achilles if nothing else.

“Come inside. Patroclus can explain everything better.” Achilles insisted, throwing the last of the clothes on the line in a less careful manner than he had the others. “He is learning how to toast chestnuts and it smells nice.”

And so he follows.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so used to Patroclus’ voice narratively that it’s a super fun challenge to work with Zagreus! I’ve been kind of letting him wind and trail and chase trains of thought more, bc honestly I know an ADHD king when i see one.


	4. Shine On, Harvest Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zagreus reflects on his mood as he continues upward. And down.

He didn’t linger long in their Elysian abode, though it felt like more of a home than any place he’d ever been. 

The two Myrmidons hadn’t been reunited for very long, maybe a few seasons since Achilles’ contract was amended- and then a week or two since he resigned completely. Despite the brevity of its use, they were well on their way to having the house fully furnished: The living area had a great many colorful cushions around a very low table, a plush but well-worn sofa, a bench style chaise that Patroclus was enamored with, and a few spare blankets about for if Zagreus or another guest needed to crash there for a night.

The kitchen was small and cluttered, but in a way where it was obvious everything was in its proper place. The hearth between the two spaces was warm and well-tended to, even though it would likely never extinguish without the intent. He said so once, that they need not worry over it once it’s lit.

“I know.” Patroclus nodded. “Perhaps it is the routine of caring for it that warms me so, not the heat from the flame.”

Many in the House of Hades turned up their noses at the so-called useless behaviors that mortal shades cycled through without need- eating for the taste and sharing for the comradery, bathing even if they don’t sweat, continuing every day chores as if there wasn’t some magic in place that could will it away. Zagreus does not, for he thinks he understands. Maybe it is his mortal blood that allows him to do so.

Achilles is sitting on the sofa, with Patroclus sitting on the ground in front of him. They are changing the little decorations in Pat’s braids, the ones the prince suspected were purposefully Elysian in color: beads and baubles in cobalt and periwinkle, one or two the same shocking magenta that Theseus and Asterius wore. They were removing these and setting them in a little dish so they wouldn’t get lost as Achilles put in a set that was all gold. There were less of these than of the beads, which only made him ever more particular about the placement of them.

They looked bold and handsome against the black of his hair, but Patroclus always looked handsome- gods damn him. Zagreus would show up to the glade covered in soot and viscera with a black eye, take one look at Pat barely trying to look good and then become self-conscious of his sweaty hair and askew clothing.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” Achilles asked, changing his mind about the location of a specific and tiny gold band. 

“Yeah.” Zagreus replied, rubbing over his eyes in uncharacteristic exhaustion. “To be honest, Asphodel really took a lot out of me.”

“Surely there was no combat in the highlands?” Patroclus said with a pinched brow. “I thought you had business there for the house.”

“No, there wasn’t. More that it was-...overwhelming? In a good way, mostly. I think.” He confessed. “I liked it there, but the excitement tired me out.”

Not a lie, but not the entire reason he doesn’t want to linger.

It has begun to sting a little, to be in the presence of both Achilles and Patroclus at once. Not that there’s an inappropriate amount of PDA, it’s just the way they are with each other. The way they stand and walk, at perfect orbit from the other, the way they hand each other things without looking- Patroclus’ sad eyes glittering at Achilles, who beams when he sees that they’re on him even for a second. They’ve known each other their whole lives, and it’s obvious that they have been in love for the majority of it despite its brevity.

Is it so terrible to ache, when he realizes that’s what he wants with someone? But he couldn’t just  _ say  _ so, not when he can’t be sure Thanatos feels even an inkling of the same thing. There’s no walking that back, once it’s out of his mouth. ‘I think I’m meant to be with you, and I’ve known you for so long you feel like a part of me. But it’s fine if you don’t want that, haha I’ll be fine.’ That wouldn’t go over.

So he would like to be alone for a while, because he is lonely. It sounded foolish even to him, but he is a slave to his own whims it seems.

“Thank you for the chestnuts! And the jerky.” The prince waved at the door, patting the little cloth pouches at his hip that he’d been given.

“Get some rest then, stranger.”

He closed the door behind him, not pausing until he reached the chamber door. He hesitated in front of it, knowing he runs into Thanatos most often in Elysium for their little contests.

But Zagreus wants to be alone, because he is lonely. He doesn’t want to see him right now.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

By some trick of fate or some unusual routine the prince didn’t even know he had, he always arrives on the surface at dawn.

It is dim but not dark, and he sits every time on the cliff side to watch the sun rise slowly over the ocean, see it glitter in gold and throw prisms over the water. Though it is always winter, he swears he can feel the warmth of it.

But this time it is not dawn. It is truly dark instead of dim, and the stars above him twinkled like the sun on the water. It took his breath, made him puff out a cloud of steam with a smile on his face. He’s seen the moon once or twice as it retreats and dims in the light, but now it sits heavy and full and  _ huge _ just higher than the horizon. He didn’t know the moon could be gold.

He plopped down in his normal spot as he wiped breathless tears from his face, listened to his first high-tide lap against the shoreline down below. He didn’t want to go to the garden this time, dreading the feeling of being mid-task and upright as his body started shutting down. Just this time, maybe he’d be still. Enjoy a rare moment of calm and look at a golden moon, allow it to remind him of whoever it wishes instead of smothering it.

It feels like longer, when he’s not rushing to finish chores before the Styx swallows him up. Or that’s what he thought at first. He’s been admiring the scenery for a suspicious amount of time, hesitant to move in case he catches the Fates attention and they choose a random organ to shut down. He looked around, peered around trees and bushes from his seated position. He only lasted this long on the surface when Persephone was still up here, or when Thanatos sat with him.

Out of seemingly nowhere, he heard the stunted sound of packing snow, the occasional break of a twig- dreading a death via mauling by random passing fauna.  _ Another _ death via mauling by random passing fauna. Those ones growled, but this one sniffled. He stood then from his perch, turning around to see this was indeed not the case of a bear or a wolf or a wildcat.

A little girl?

Barely as tall as his hip, struggling through knee-deep snow drifts with dirt on her clothes and a scratch on her cheek. She wobbles and falls, cries and sniffles but stands to keep going. Zagreus has taken three steps in her direction before he realizes it, only noticing his proximity when the child startles.

She yelps when she sees him, but he can tell she’s too tired to do anything but look over at him with big wet eyes and a wobbly lip. She looks around, either for a direction to run or for a sign of someone else, but she finds none. She’s alone? Do mortals let their children wander so aimlessly? He didn’t think they did.

“Where is your Mama, little one?” He asks, crouching down to look smaller. He doesn’t come any closer.

“Um-?” The child scanned the horizon again, voice shaking with how hard she was shivering. “With the wagon?”

Zagreus looked down to his clothes and decided very quickly to give the girl the red sash. It was plenty wide enough to be a blanket for someone her size, and though it left him in just his black  _ exomis _ and leggings, he wasn’t much longer for the surface anyway. He pulled it off and spread his arms so he could see the width and length- should be plenty big.

“I can help you look for the wagon.” He nodded, voice quiet. “But in case I have to leave before we find them, can I bundle you up in this?”

She only hesitated for a moment before nodding, sending little curls bobbing in the wind.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

They had walked for a while before Zagreus worried the snow was slowing the girls stride too much, that he’d just drop dead before they found the wagon. So he now found himself with a child on his hip almost completely disguised by heavy crimson, wrapped to look more like a sack of grain than anything on two legs.

“Do you remember the last place you saw your Mama?” He asked, adjusting the makeshift blanket to shield the wind from her face. Her lips were a little blue.

“There was a well.” She said quietly.

“A well? That’s good. That helps us look. Were there any trees that looked different? Grassy spots? Bushes?” 

“Um.” She paused, tucking deeper into the fabric and into his shoulder. She mumbled but he couldn’t hear.

“What was that one?”

“Berries.”

Berry bushes, and a well. That would help look. Zagreus is trying not to think about how long he’s been up here, pain free and confused. He doesn’t know why he dreads speculation, as though pondering it for long enough will call it down upon him.

He’s relieved when he passes red berries, even more so when he smells smoke.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_ “Oh my girl!” _ The man gasps, presumably the child’s father. Zagreus had put her down in the snowless clearing to run over to him, when she hollered at the sight of the wagon and campfire.

The mother rushes out of the opposite woods, cooing at the child and crying. She stands up to thank him but pauses with a funny look on her face, tilting her head at him like a magpie. 

Zagreus,- suddenly struck with the knowledge that his appearance is whimsical at best and frightening at worse- decides to barrel over whatever the woman might be about to ask. He’s got all eyes on him.

“I found her by the cliff side.” He points behind him, a little to their left. “I was already sitting and was very happy to see she was not a bear.” He glanced at the girl who giggled while her father gaped at Zagreus, eyes everywhere at once.

“She sleepwalks.” The woman sighed, fidgeting and wiping at her eyes. “We thought if she slept in the back of the wagon that the drop would wake her but-,”

“Thank you, again, truly.” The father said, still clinging to the child before noticing the bold color of her makeshift blanket. “Is this yours? Here, it’s freezing out-,”

Zagreus put his hands up and shook his head, nearly tickled. “No no, keep it. It’s plenty heavy for the weather, and it doesn’t tear.” He assured. “I’m not long for the outdoors anyway. I won’t be hurting for it.”

“We are in your debt. I don’t know what we would have done, not with this weather.” The mother shook her head, still watery eyed.

“Oh!” Zagreus exclaimed a bit too suddenly, remembering a few things he had thought to say on the way over. “I mentioned a cliff side in your path, madam. I don’t think it would be safe to bring the wagon that way.”

Suddenly exasperated, she threw her head back and huffed, keeping her brows high and accusing as she looked her husband in his sheepish face. “I  _ told _ you-,”

“I said we could follow any river in the area to the coast, and then follow the coast to our port.” The man sighed, admitting defeat.

“Oh, the coast is there alright.” Zagreus nodded, grinning as he crossed his arms. “Just a few fathoms down from the cliff.”

They bickered for a moment before the prince thought of another nugget of wisdom to pass on to the travelers. 

“The river you follow?” He mentioned, gesturing with his head to the unassuming length of water behind the wagon. “It looks calm here but I promise the undercurrent is insurmountable. I would not travel along it with a sleepwalking child who might fancy a swim.” He could tell they were listening, but not fully absorbing the danger he warned of, too distracted by the relief of a lost child found.

“Unless you have a good grip on them, I suppose.” He shrugged, smirking to himself as he turned to walk back to the temple. He grew weary. “She could be a little Amazon, with a weak shoulder. Or an arm. A heel, maybe.”

They finally looked long and hard at the river, as if it would change its shape and color right before their eyes if only they tried hard enough to see it. He waved over his shoulder, wishing them luck and hoping they didn’t see him stumble for a moment.

“What is your name, sir?” The mother called, hushed by the flow of water and the whistling of wind.

“I am Zagreus. Safe travels, madam. Sir. Little one.” He waved again, waited until he was hopefully out of eyeshot to use the last of his energy to dash twice, catch his breath, twice more-

He wasn’t all that far from the temple at all, apparently. He was tired and he didn’t feel good, surprisingly melancholy despite his extended stint of time topside as he approached the weathered battleground. He sighed, passing piles of his own frozen blood from earlier. 

_ “...-must be the god of Blood, of Life; thus they are inexorably drawn.” _

He looked up once more at the moon, chilled to silver as it pulled away from the horizon, tried not to let it remind him of anyone’s hair or eyes or quiet disposition. He was convinced the only thing  _ inexorably drawn  _ to him was the river at his feet.

“And I to you, dear Styx.” He said aloud to no one in particular, hopping into the red-black water as if he were taking a leisurely swim at the coast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zag is a sweet and charming boy who has well earned the leisure of being a little moody.


End file.
